


Egret Harbor

by Jingletown



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jingletown/pseuds/Jingletown
Summary: In 1999, following the first ever double-kaiju event, jaeger pilots Mark Lee and Winwin Dong wash up on the shore of a small Alaskan fishing town called Egret Harbor. Though they're presumed dead by the Shatterdome they call home, they're discovered by local fishermen and brought to a young doctor named Renjun Huang.As their injuries heal, Mark explores Egret Harbor and grows closer and closer to Renjun. He even befriends some of the locals who are eager to get to know a brave ranger (especially Jisung and Jaemin, two high school athletes who hang on his every word.)Already anxious about his future as a pilot, as well as the future of the world after Y2K, Mark stumbles upon a potentially dangerous thought — what if there's more to life than just fighting Kaiju?
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Mark Lee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Author's Note

**Author's note:**

I am more excited about this story than I have been about a writing project in a LONG TIME.

Huge thank you to nctpacrimfest on Twitter for birthing this fic fest (and for all of your hard work running it)

and to hyuckaboo for the incredible prompt. I hope I do your idea justice!

And I really, really hope you guys get excited about this story, too. Thank you! Enjoy!


	2. Prologue

**October 1999**

There are so many things that Mark loves about the city — the skyline, the theater, the internet cafes, the seemingly limitless options for Chinese takeout — but tonight, his head throbs.

The sounds of the city that normally lull him to sleep, the sirens and car horns and dogs barking and people shouting, the urban white noise he's grown to love is like an ice pick in the brain.

He tosses and turns for a while before kicking the covers off sometime after two-thirty, finally conceding and coming to the conclusion that a glass of orange juice and some light stretching might be better for him than just staring at the ceiling.

Mark goes to the fridge, pours himself a glass of juice and then turns on the TV, making sure to mute it before it can make a sound. If he wakes Winwin, he figures there might be just a little bit of hell to pay.

He clicks over to MTV but realizes quickly that it's useless without audio and navigates instead to a cable news network that he doesn't trust but whose 24-hour coverage sometimes keeps him company in the wee hours.

He reads the scroller on the bottom of the screen with strained, heavy eyes.

_Kaiju attack in Honolulu leaves 10 dead._

Mark swallows hard.

He's been a pilot nearly three years and he thinks that it's too soon for him to be growing so jaded. Yeah, he loves the thrill of the chase, the glory of his profession, the sharp, metallic taste of adrenaline that comes with staring down a 2,500-ton sea monster from the combative cockpit of a 1,900-ton fighting robot.

But the inverse? All the death and destruction and fire and twisted metal and pain that comes with it? Lately it's been turning his stomach and keeping him awake.

Mark doesn’t feel comfortable talking to Winwin about it. It’s true that they’ve been partners a little over two years but it’s also true that Winwin can be a little… aloof. (And that’s saying something considering Mark has _literally_ been inside Winwin’s head.)

They’re currently in-between gigs, living in limbo while they wait for their next assignment, and so they share a slightly-too-small apartment three miles from the Montreal Shatterdome. But outside of work, Mark and Winwin don’t really “hang out.” (Even crazier, Mark still isn’t allowed to use Winwin’s real name. He called him ‘Sicheng’ exactly once when they were first paired up and Winwin made it a point to correct him. ‘Winwin’ was a call sign, a nickname he’d earned in the academy, and that was the end of it.)

Once or twice, Mark and Winwin had gone to the movies together. One or twice or maybe even three times, they’d played a few games of ping-pong in-between conditioning sessions at the Shatterdome. Every so often, Winwin would cook dinner and leave a plate on the stove for Mark before disappearing into his bedroom for the night. But beyond that, they don’t talk much unless they’re in their jaeger. (And what a beauty she is – the From Utopia – 285 feet of shining steel and pure _power_.)

The fact that they make such a great team, the fact that they’re even drift compatible in the first place is one of life’s greatest mysteries. Mark once dated a girl who credited astrology for their compatibility, citing something called “Leo-Scorpio solidarity” but Mark wasn’t totally sure what that meant. (The relationship ultimately did not work out for a variety of reasons.)

Does Mark wish he had someone to talk to? Sure. He thinks it might be nice to have a confidant, to have someone he trusts enough to really open up to, but… it’s complicated. He figures that if he _really_ needed to talk, Winwin might humor him. (It’s not that Winwin’s a bad guy. He’s just private and impatient and blunt. There’s a lot of things about Winwin that Mark really likes – his work ethic, his dependability, his rare but uniquely contagious laugh – but sometimes he _does_ wish that his partner were a little more social, a little more accessible, a little friendlier.)

Tonight, Mark feels guilty. He has a best friend, a wonderful, warm, compulsively sarcastic son-of-a-bitch named Shotaro who works at a café a few blocks away. Shotaro is supportive, someone who’s always willing to listen, but he isn’t a pilot. He doesn’t get it the way Winwin gets it. (Or, well, the way Winwin is _supposed_ to get it. Does Winwin get it? Does he understand? Does he feel the same way? Mark is convinced he’ll never know.)

And then, a second later, Mark feels even worse. Here he is, safe and sound in a cozy apartment, nursing a glass of orange juice and watching TV in his pajamas, and he’s complaining about feeling lonely. He thinks there are ten families in Honolulu who are spending the night _wishing_ their problems were so small. He tells himself to buck up, changes the channel to Nickelodeon and wraps himself up in the blanket they keep draped over the back of the couch.

He falls asleep watching _Rugrats_ and doesn’t realize he’s passed out until Winwin gives him a gentle but purposeful shove.

“Did you sleep out here all night?” he asks and Mark runs his hand though his hair and blinks a few times before answering.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I came out here.”

Winwin just sort of huffs in response and then turns on his heel and enters the kitchen. Mark notices that Winwin is fully dressed and so he squints to check the time, gasping when he realizes it’s after seven.

“Shit,” he says. “Is there time for coffee?”

Winwin is pouring himself a bowl of cereal, unbothered. He looks up just long enough to say, “If you’re going to shower, shower fast.”

So Mark showers at the speed of light. He’s pretty sure there’s still soap bubbles behind his ear when he bursts out of the bathroom, throws on a pair of pants and starts searching for his coat. He’s very, _very_ surprised to find his jacket hanging on the back of his usual kitchen chair, his thermos full of hot coffee and waiting for him on the counter.

He smiles to himself.

_Hey, maybe Winwin gives a fuck after all._

Mark hurries out the door and into Winwin’s Mustang and the pair makes the seven-minute drive in near-silence. They rarely chitchat on the way to work. Winwin always drives and so Winwin always picks the music (and both of these things are fine with Mark who hates driving and who actually really likes Winwin’s taste in music.)

They make their short commute and Mark stares out the window, dark eyes a little unfocused as they watch the sights of urban Canada. Still, he thinks of Honolulu, Hawaii. He remembers the news footage, remembers the destruction and then tries to remember why exactly he does what he does, why exactly he became a jaeger pilot.

And then they’re pulling up to the Shatterdome. They’re cleared by security and park in one of the spots reserved for HOVs, Winwin’s favorite part of their daily carpool.

Winwin looks cool in his bomber jacket and aviator shades, the strap of a leather messenger bag across his chest. He’s the perfect example of what a jaeger pilot should be, Mark thinks – chic, masculine, effortless. (Shotaro once said that Winwin is cool because Winwin doesn’t care if he’s cool and Mark thinks it’s an apt description.)

Briefly, fleetingly, Mark wonders what people think when they look at him, what they assume. Did he command respect with a simple expression like Winwin? Was it obvious to all that saw him that he graduated at the top of his class and went on to become a feared and esteemed ranger with six deployments under his belt by the ripe old age of 26? Or did he look like something else entirely – maybe a barista or a college student or a busboy or some much more important person’s goofy kid brother?

They’re waiting in line at the metal detectors, a recent installation inside all Shatterdomes following an incident in Moscow six months before, when Winwin speaks.

“Did you see what happened in Honolulu last night?”

Mark swallows hard but it does little to quell the taste of bile in the back of his throat. He sees now that Winwin is holding a newspaper and whether he’s had it in his bag the entire time or if he stole it off someone’s front lawn while he was waiting for Mark to finish showering, he isn’t sure.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes fixed on the security guards so he doesn’t have to look Winwin in the eye. “I saw it on the news last night. Ten dead, right?”

Winwin nods once and says, “How sad is it that ten people dying barely makes headlines? God, I’m almost tempted to say _only_ ten people. How fucked up is that? I know how it sounds. But ten casualties? From a Category II kaiju? That’s a _miracle_. Remember Manila? 811 people died. Okinawa last year? Almost a thousand.” Winwin scoffs, a little disgusted, a little disillusioned and Mark thinks that maybe Winwin _does_ understand exactly how he feels. But then Winwin shoves the newspaper back into his bag and steps closer to the metal detectors. “I just want to get to work and kick some kaiju ass. An eye for an eye. The next time one of those ugly bastards pops up, we’ll be ready.”

Mark bites the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing.

_Maybe not._

* * *

It’s October and Mark and Winwin find themselves between jobs. They haven’t been deployed since June, not since a Category III kaiju named Kemono threatened to destroy the East Coast. But, deployment or not, they signed a contract and that meant that their presence was required at the Shatterdome six days a week. They attend classes, receive specialized training, attend long, boring meetings about far-away kaiju attacks, work with city officials to keep their little slice of heaven as safe as possible, sometimes even venture out to sign autographs or talk at elementary schools about the importance of studying and eating right.

Mark checks the schedule in his locker and swears under his breath when he sees a long conditioning session followed by a briefing on the Honolulu attacks.

He is utterly exhausted after three hours with Montreal’s toughest personal trainer, a tall, beefy, perpetually motivated man named Matthew. He’s red-faced and drenched with sweat, splayed out on a bench in the middle of the locker room and trying to catch his breath when Winwin shows up looking as fresh as a tulip in springtime.

“You look like you died,” Winwin quips. “Twice.”

Mark doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“Why do you look so clean?” he wheezes. “Didn’t you have conditioning today, too?”

Winwin nods as he opens his locker.

“Yeah but I was with Solji.”

Mark is too tired to laugh as spitefully as he wants to so he just grimaces instead.

“The one who is in love with you?” he asks. “Seriously?”

Winwin snorts, a small smile on his lips.

“ _In love_ is a strong term,” he says coyly. Mark rolls his eyes.

“Oh please. She wants to ride you around the gym like a moped.” At this, Winwin laughs out loud and Mark feels like he’s just accomplished something great. “Why do you get the hot girl who loves you too much to hurt you while I get the tattooed tyrant?”

“Matthew again?” he asks. “Yeah, he’s brutal.” Winwin changes out of his workout clothes and redresses quickly, pausing to check his hair while he buttons his shirt. Then he asks, “Do you think I’d get fired if I slept with her?”

At long last, Mark manages to sit up, wincing at the way his shoulders are already stiff. “Who? Solji? No. Probably not. I mean… Maybe. But technically, she _is_ your superior so if anything, _she’d_ get fired.”

Winwin’s eyes narrow. He produces an orange Gatorade from his locker and takes a long sip. Cocking his head to the side, he says, “Might be worth it, though.”

They’re both laughing when Marshal Minho Choi enters the locker room.

“You two quite finished?” he asks, his voice cold and heard like concrete in winter. Mark snaps to his feet, sweat and lactic acid be damned.

“Yes, sir,” he and Winwin say in unison.

Minho’s eyes go from Mark to Winwin, then back to Mark.

“Conference Room C. Five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Neither exhales until he’s gone.

Winwin has begun tying his tie, semi-formal attire required at any briefing where marshals are present.

“Maybe I will sleep with her,” he says more to himself than to Mark. “There’s worse ways to lose your job, right?”

* * *

The briefing lasts over two hours and Mark thinks they should choose a different word if only for the sake of accuracy. There was nothing _brief_ about it, he thinks. Sure, _long, depressing, one-sided conversation_ doesn’t roll off the tongue in the same way but, hey, at least it’s honest.

All of the higher-ups, the marshals and other elected officials that could crush pilots in the palms of their hands have left already, leaving just a smattering of stray, restless rangers behind.

Senior pilot Jonghyun Kim – an eccentric and ambitious thirtysomething whose youthful face and wide smile do not remotely match his absolutely ferocious fighting style – has crumpled up his memo and is trying to shoot it into a wastebasket in the far corner of the room while his partner, the cocky but charming Kibum, plays defense.

Across the table from Mark is Lucas, a very tall, very strong, very easily distracted pilot who is sketching some sort of jaeger helmet schematic on the back of his calendar. His partner Hongjoong has already run out of the conference room like his ass was on fire, mumbling something about not wanting to be late for his conditioning session with Matthew. (Mark was late for a session with Matthew once. Only once. After what Matthew put him through that day, Mark swore to always be fifteen minutes early.)

There had been two other pairs of rangers at the meeting – Hani and Hyojin, pilots of the esteemed Alpha Justice and rookies Taehyun and Kai – but Minho had excused them to their afternoon obligations as soon as the briefing wrapped up. (Winwin had a theory that Minho only had soft spots for rookies and female rangers.)

“Do you remember Stormpod?” Winwin asks suddenly. Since the briefing ended, Winwin has been sitting quietly, going over the notes, intel and statistics from the Honolulu attack.

“Stormpod?” Mark parrots. “Like the first kaiju we ever took down? _That_ Stormpod?”

From where he’s wrestling with Kibum, Jonghyun snorts.

“No,” he says. “Stormpod Jackson, famed Confederate general in the American Civil War.”

Kibum laughs out loud but Winwin ignores them both.

“Yeah, that Stormpod.”

“What about him?”

“The kaiju from last night? Toshin?”

Mark is lost.

“Yeah? What about him?”

Winwin’s patience is fraying slightly but it prevails as he points again and says, “Stormpod and Toshin are close in size. Their skulls are a similar shape. Their wingspan is almost identical.”

Mark almost laughs.

“How do you remember all that about Stormpod?” he asks even though he already knows the answer – Winwin remembers everything about every kaiju they’ve ever encountered.

“Don’t you think that’s strange?” Winwin asks.

Mark blinks.

“Which part?”

With a huff, Winwin explains, “Based on strength, speed and destruction, Stormpod was a Category III kaiju, right?. Toshin was a Category II. So why are they the same size? Are they evolving? Are Category II kaiju getting bigger and stronger?”

“Kaiju vary. By nature, I mean. No two are the same, right?”

“Maybe,” says Winwin, his voice trailing off. Across the table, Lucas is still sketching. Jonghyun and Kibum have given up on paper basketball and are gathering their things to leave.

“ _But_?” Mark prompts.

“But,” Winwin sighs, “Ten says that–”

Now it’s Kibum who laughs.

“Oh, Lord,” he says, shoving papers unceremoniously into his backpack. “Not _that guy_.” Winwin looks irritated, his usual expression whenever Kibum speaks, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Which one is Ten?” Jonghyun asks innocently, placing his papers inside of a folder before slipping it into his bag.

For the first time in two hours, Lucas speaks.

“He’s the scientist from the second floor, the one who’s always playing Nirvana in the lab.”

“The tiny guy?” Jonghyun asks and Kibum laughs again, this time playfully.

“You’re one to talk,” he teases.

Lucas points to Jonghyun with his pen and says, “Yep. That’s the one.”

“Ten has theories,” Winwin says, his back teeth dangerously close to grinding. “And lately, he’s been telling me about how more and more scientists are convinced things are going to change with the millennium.”

Kibum throws his head back and laughs like a supervillain.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Y2K right?” He snorts a little and Mark has to fight hard to keep from rolling his eyes at a senior pilot. “Everyone is full of shit. Nothing is going to happen on New Year’s, dude. Trust me.”

Winwin doesn’t reply, just directs his attention back to Mark and waits for Kibum to stop talking.

“Ten says kaiju are growing at an alarming rate. He says the old system of categories is becoming obsolete as kaiju get bigger and bigger with each attack. He thinks the whole concept of separating them by category is going to be obsolete soon.”

Jonghyun has lost interest in the conversation. He produces his wallet from his bag, plucks a dollar from inside and heads out into the hallway to buy cookies from the vending machine. But Kibum and Lucas remain and are much more invested in the topic than Mark wants them to be.

And honestly, Mark gets it. He’s met Ten a few times. What the guy lacks in physical stature he more than makes up for in brains, the kind of guy that understands how the whole world works down to a cellular level. But he’s… eccentric. He’s unique. He’s off-beat. (He’s weird and everyone knows it but he’s brilliant and so that makes him _quirky_.)

From what he remembers, Ten’s a nice enough dude. He’s witty, always ready with a clever remark and he’s usually talking animatedly about an elaborate conspiracy theory centered around kaiju.

“He’s a bit of a kaiju groupie,” Winwin had said once. “But he’s a good guy.”

“Ten thinks Y2K has something to do with kaiju?” Kibum smirks and shakes his head. It seems like he’s going to say something but he doesn’t. (Winwin looks like he’s going to punch Kibum in the face but he doesn’t.)

“He thinks that it’s all connected – the increase in kaiju sightings, the changes in their size and speed. He says people are worried about computers crashing when they _should_ be more worried about what the new millennium means for kaiju.” Kibum is stifling a laugh and Winwin finally explodes. “You got something you want to say, Kim?”

Kibum’s resounding smile is incredulous, cold.

“Do you hear yourself? Really? Kaiju being part of Y2K? Come on. What do you think, the _K_ stands for _kaiju_?” Kibum laughs again and then Winwin is out of his seat and throwing Kibum against the closest wall.

“Oh, Christ,” sighs Lucas. “Not again.”

Mark and Lucas both jump to their feet, Mark grabbing Winwin and Lucas pulling Kibum away. Jonghyun returns a second later, two cookies already gone from the package in his hand.

“Hey, what’s this? You guys having all this fun without me?”

Mark drags Winwin back a few feet so that he’s no longer within arm’s reach of Kibum. (If he is, he _will_ hit him again. Mark learned that lesson the hard way the last time Winwin and Kibum got into it over something seriously stupid.)

“Your partner is an asshole,” Winwin spits and Jonghyun just smiles.

“Yeah, he really is.” Jonghyun turns to Kibum and nods his chin at the door. Then Kibum, more irked than anything, just turns and leaves like nothing happened. Jonghyun smiles again, bright and genuine and strangely disarming for a man who fights giant sea monsters for a living. “Sorry about that. You know how it is. Too many hotheaded pilots in a small space. Too much testosterone. It’s messy.” He takes a cookie from the pack and offers it to Winwin and to Mark’s complete surprise, Winwin accepts and pops it into his mouth with a uniquely combative crunch. “See you guys later,” Jonghyun says. He turns on his heel, reaches up to slap Lucas’ arm in a casual show of camaraderie and then he disappears.

“Never a dull moment,” Lucas sighs. He wishes them wall, gathers up all his stuff and exits, leaving Mark and Winwin alone in the conference room.

“Kibum is a bastard,” Winwin says. He’s back at the table and stacking all of his notes.

“No arguments,” Mark says. Winwin’s whole mood has shifted, though Mark can’t exactly pinpoint what it is his partner is suddenly feeling.

“So Ten really thinks it’s all connected?” Mark asks tentatively. Part of him is genuinely curious. Another part of him just wants to smooth out whatever emotional weirdness is happening inside of Winwin’s head. (And a very small part of him is actually terrified to know the answer, scared shitless by the implication that kaiju are getting bigger, stronger and less predictable.)

Winwin seems slightly suspicious of Mark’s intentions but he says, “You want the truth? Fine. Ten says that numbers like this point to the very real possibility of the first-ever double event.”

Mark’s jaw is too surprised to drop.

“A double event?” he repeats, dumbfounded. “Like… _two_ kaiju at once?”

Winwin swallows hard, then nods.

“That’s what Ten thinks anyway.” He throws his bag over his shoulder and shrugs a little. “I don’t know if I believe it but…”

“Could be something to pay attention to,” Mark adds dutifully.

“I just want to get back to work,” Winwin says. There’s an exhaustion and a frustration in his voice that Mark isn’t used to hearing. “No more meetings, no more conditioning, no more killing time with a bunch of asshole rangers. I just want to _go_. I want to get in our jaeger and I want to fight. I want to kick kaiju ass and I want to protect people. I want to do the job I signed up for, you know?”

“I know,” Mark lies. “Soon, I bet. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Right,” says Winwin, defeated. “Just hang in there.”

But ‘soon’ is much sooner than any of them expect.

It’s three days later. Somewhere around one AM, in the midst of a slightly sexy dream about Posh Spice, Mark hears his pager. He dives out of bed like he’s spring-loaded. It’s not his personal pager, not the one Shotaro beeps when he’s bored and wants to meet for lunch – it’s the Shatterdome pager. Through the wall, he hears Winwin’s, too.

Mark knows what it means even without checking the message – _kaiju_.

He changes quickly and stumbles into the living room where Winwin is already dressed and lacing his boots. There’s coffee brewing on the counter.

“Five minutes,” Winwin says, a fire in his dark eyes that Mark hasn’t seen since their last deployment. He stands, gets his coat from the closet near the door and then ducks into the kitchen to fill his thermos. Then he does something even rarer – he smiles. He grabs his keys, slaps Mark on the back and says, “Let’s do this shit.”

They drive to the Shatterdome in silence, Winwin too amped up to speak and Mark too nervous to open his mouth without the very real fear of vomiting in his lap.

A kaiju attack? In Montreal? It was his worst nightmare and it was coming true right before his tired eyes.

But when they get to the Shatterdome, Mark breathes a sigh of relief so deep that he feels a little lightheaded.

There is no kaiju in Montreal but there _has been_ a kaiju spotting off the coast of Vancouver. Problem is that there are no rangers at the Vancouver Shatterdome who have any experience with Category III kaiju and so Minho, in his infinite wisdom, has assembled four pairs of rangers (Jonghyun and Kibum, Hongjoong and Lucas, Hani and Hyojin and Mark and Winwin) to form a specialized team to help keep things under control.

They’ll be deploying immediately, their jaegers already being prepped for transport to the west coast. Pilots keep go-bags packed and ready inside their lockers at the Shatterdome and so as soon as Minho finished briefing them, they’d board a plane and head straight for Vancouver.

Mark’s hands shake while Minho speaks and so he hides them under the table, disguising his anxiety as the same eager, confident restlessness that he sees on the faces of his fellow pilots.

Everyone else seems so eager, so prepared, so _ready_ … so why is Mark so afraid? He’s done this before. He knows what to do, knows how to fight, knows how to win so what’s he so scared of?

Minho finishes speaking and sends the rangers to collect their things. He tells them that there’s a van waiting outside to take them to the airport and suddenly, Mark has no time to be scared. Things move too fast for him to feel fear or anything else.

The eight rangers are whisked away to the airport, put on a plane and flown 2,800 miles away with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever they’d had the foresight to pack in their carry-on sized duffle bags.

On the plane, Jonghyun and Kibum play checkers while Hani and Lucas talk about _ER._ Hongjoong eats seven bags of airline peanuts, Hyojin puts her headphones on and writes something in a fancy, leatherbound journal and Winwin takes a nap.

But all Mark can do is stare out the window.

He hopes for the best even if his brain is telling him to prepare for the worst.

When they land, the crazy pace gets crazier. High-ranking officials hastily escort them to the Vancouver Shatterdome and set them up in temporary barracks. As soon as their bags hit the floor, they’re swept into another briefing, well-dressed marshals and J-Techs all shoved into a conference room and barking over each other like caged dogs.

The Montreal rangers are ushered into a smaller, less chaotic room and brought up to speed while Mark tries to catch his breath.

A kaiju, they’re told by a tough-looking woman named Seohyun, has been spotted off the coast of Vancouver Island, going even as far south as Seattle with rumored sightings near Puget Sound.

“What category?” Winwin asks.

“Category III,” says Seohyun.

Refreshed from his nap and emblazoned with the promise of combat, Winwin asks, “On the original scale? How heavy is he? Kaiju have been getting bigger, faster. The Category II in Honolulu the other day, Toshin? He was as big as some Category IIIs.”

A joyless smile graces Seohyun’s lips. She looks Winwin up and down, impressed or maybe intrigued.

“You’ve done your research,” she says. She launches into a spiel about the projected height and weight and Jonghyun, who’s seated directly beside Mark, tries hard to stifle a laugh.

He scribbles something in his notebook and slides it in front of Mark.

_I’ll bet you anything he sleeps with her._

Being careful not to get caught, Mark writes back.

 _That’s hardly worth betting on_.

The rangers are inundated with information – information about the kaiju, information about the Shatterdome, information about Vancouver – and then sent to the cafeteria for a meal Mark can’t distinguish because he’s been up for too many hours and in too many time zones.

He scarfs down a tray of ham, eggs and steamed broccoli, washes it all down with a slightly disgusting protein drink and goes back to his new room to lay down. But rest doesn’t come easy. As tired as he is, Mark can’t stop his head from spinning.

He’s 2,000 miles from home and he’s afraid. He’s afraid for the people of Vancouver, afraid for his fellow rangers, afraid for what happens next. And it’s a strange feeling. It’s not like him. He can’t figure out this new anxiety, this new mindset, this new _fear_ and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like being scared, doesn’t like feeling weak. Fresh out of the academy, he was fearless. He was eager. He was full of fire and vitriol and a deep-seated need to kick kaiju ass.

And now he lays on a stiff, twin-sized mattress in a 16x16 barrack in Vancouver with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

_What happened to me?_

Winwin enters the room a while later, Mark’s roommate for eternity. He whips off his shirt, tosses it into an empty, plastic laundry bin near the door, then drops to one knee and begins digging through his bag.

“We’re starting players this time,” he says, his tone disbelieving, almost enthusiastic.

“We’re doing what now?” Mark yawns. He’s not sure how long he’s been laying in bed but his back is starting to tighten up so he sits up and stretches.

“I stayed back to talk to Seohyun. Or, uh, I mean Marshal Seo.” (Mark literally bites his tongue, glad he didn’t take Jonghyun’s bet.) “She said that, when this kaiju shows up, they’ll be sending two jaegers to take it down and keeping two behind as backup.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“And we’re one of the two going out first?”

Winwin smiles, a real, wide smile with teeth, and nods.

“Mad Dog and From Utopia,” he beams. He claps his hands together like a teenager in gym class, still shirtless, a new light in his eyes. “First-string, baby. Varsity. The frontlines. You ready?”

Mark is not.

“Wait,” he says. “Mad Dog? We’re going with Kibum and Jonghyun?”

Winwin nods and says, “Yeah, not my two best friends. But they _are_ two of the most successful and respected rangers in all of Canada so I guess it’ll be okay.” Winwin has unpacked most of his bag into the small dresser near his bed. He produces a clean shirt, applies a fresh layer of deodorant and changes quickly into something that makes him resemble a grownup.

“Going somewhere?” Mark asks and Winwin almost laughs.

“Seohyun said she’d show me around the Shatterdome,” he explains. “The gym, the labs, the showers.” (Mark literally closes his eyes because it’s the only way he can keep from rolling them.) “You look exhausted, though. Take a nap. I’ll see you later.”

He’s gone before Mark can even smell the expensive cologne he’s sprayed.

If Mark knew Jonghyun’s email address (and maybe if he’d had access to a computer), he would have sent him 3 words: _You were right._

With nothing else to do, he lays back down, folds his hands over his stomach and closes his eyes. Remembering something his favorite karate teacher once told him, Mark starts counting backwards by threes.

Somewhere around 739, he falls asleep. And for a while, he sleeps deeply. No one bothers him. The barrack walls are thick, thick enough to block out the sounds of marshals shouting orders and rangers playing basketball. So he sleeps, too tired to even dream. His muscles relax, his head clears, his body starts to recharge.

And then, like clockwork, sirens, a very distinctive alarm. His eyes shoot open. There are lights flashing in his barrack and in the hallway, and the air is crackling with electricity, with chaos. Mark can see people running past his door.

It’s a horrifying reality, one he’s terrified to face, but he knows what this means, he knows what he’s in Vancouver to do. He changes in seconds, opening the door just as a Shatterdome official arrives to fetch him.

“Mark Lee?” she asks. He nods once. “You’re being deployed. The kaiju’s codename is Omaha. Please come with me.”

She takes off running and so Mark does the same. He’s so focused on keeping up and on not crashing into anyone that he’s almost able to ignore the way his stomach is churning.

In minutes, he’s on an elevator being brought up to the Drivesuit room. (To keep himself from puking, Mark thinks about the absurdity of his life, of the Jaeger Program itself. Miles away, an alien sea monster is wreaking havoc on half a million people. To even the playing field, Mark and three others were being put inside the heads of giant fighting robots and being sent to defend humanity. It was a weird and wonderful world.)

Kibum, Jonghyun and Winwin are already clad in Drivesuits, the pilots of the Mad Dog already climbing into their armor.

“It’s go-time,” Winwin says and Mark notices that the only thing currently wider than his eyes is his smile. “You fucking ready for this?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m fucking ready, bro.”

They do an adrenaline-fueled, slightly awkward combination of a high five and a hug and then Mark is whisked away by technicians who get him in his Drivesuit and in his armor in less than six minutes.

He and Winwin are ushered into the cockpit (the head of his giant robot), locked in, pressurized and then it happens.

Winwin smiles and shouts, “See you on the other side, brother,” and then the neural handshake begins.

People always ask about it, the Drift. People who have never Drifted always want to know what it’s like. But Mark has never found a way to describe it, never found a way to put into words the sheer enormity of melding minds, literally pooling memories and emotions, with another human being.

So he laughs and tells them it’s like a really bad sinus headache, a weird, ringing pain deep in the center of the face, and then it’s like a really weird, vivid dream about someone else.

But that doesn’t do it justice.

For a split second, his vision goes blurry. Static erupts in his ears. He blinks and he can smell the snow of his first blizzard when he was three. He blinks again and he sees Winwin’s brother, a hazy memory of playing in the front yard of their grandmother’s house. Mark’s chest vibrates, his heartbeat slows. He can feel Winwin’s confidence, his adrenaline, his anger. There’s a sharp, metallic taste on the back of Mark’s tongue. He flexes his muscles into tight fists, squeezes his eyes shut and then it’s over.

He and Winwin punch left, right, right, left and the From Utopia springs to life and does the same.

“Let’s go!” Winwin cries and then they’re side-by-side with the Mad Dog, four men and 8,000 tons of steel marching towards the danger. It’s all a mess of concrete and seawater and twisted, jagged metal and Mark’s sure his heart’s beating two-hundred times a minute. But with the effort comes a beautiful ease, a violent sort of grace. The power of the jaeger lets them breeze through buildings like a hot knife through butter.

Mark takes just a second to appreciate that, to appreciate the power, to appreciate the machine and everything that goes into it. Even with this new anxiety, he respects the science behind the From Utopia and he respects the ritual of the fight.

It’s a minute or two and then Mark can see the kaiju in the distance. Omaha. It’s tall and ugly, it’s claw outstretched. Along the coast, a few buildings have been smashed into rubble. A little to the east, another building is on fire. People are running, screaming, and when they get close, the Mad Dog activates its siren.

It’s a piercing war cry. Mark winces at the sound but, luckily, so does the kaiju. It turns quickly, its tail slamming into the side of a parking garage and smashing it like a sandcastle.

The Mad Dog doesn’t waste a second. The kaiju charges towards them and the Mad Dog charges back. Jonghyun and Kibum hit first, a blunt, closed-fist strike to the side of the face that sends Omaha flying backwards into the water. The water explodes like a mushroom cloud and Mark can feel the impact in his legs. (Though he finally understands the science behind it, it boggles Mark’s mind that he can feel everything that his jaeger feels. He, Winwin and the From Utopia – they’re one being, breathing in-sync and experiencing everything simultaneously and in real-time.)

He’s a little mesmerized watching the Mad Dog fight. The From Utopia has fought alongside the Mad Dog before, twice if Mark’s memory is correct, but it still inspires shock and awe. Jonghyun and Kibum are uniquely compatible, two people whose brains, souls and fighting styles mesh in a way that other rangers’ just don’t. And it makes them an incredibly powerful duo, something Mark is honored to witness firsthand.

He and Winwin stand a little to the south, waiting for a reason to strike, but the Mad Dog has it under control. There’s a simplicity to their movements. Suddenly, it’s not a giant robot and an alien sea monster. For a second, it looks like a schoolyard brawl, two evenly-match and seriously pissed-off kids going at it in the sand.

Scratch that. In an instant, the Mad Dog hits the kaiju with an uppercut to the abdomen, a punch so powerful that it lifts the kaiju off its feet.

They’re not so evenly matched, Mark thinks. Is any kaiju a match for the Mad Dog?

Omaha flies backwards into the ocean and disappears below the surface of the water. Both the Mad Dog and the From Utopia check the area, using infrared scanners and other high-tech measures to figure out just where the fuck it went.

Then Jonghyun’s voice appears over the communications system.

“Target appears to be neutralized,” he says.

The Mad Dog turns to face the coastline and Kibum’s side of the jaeger gestures with a long arm.

“Should we try putting some of those buildings back together?” he asks. “Or at least pick up some of the bigger pieces of concrete and move them to–”

“Fuck!” cries Winwin. “Mad Dog, watch out!”

Like an apparition, the kaiju has appeared behind them. It latches itself onto the Mad Dog’s back and tips them backwards into the sea with a cacophony of screeching metal and displaced water.

“Shit,” mutters Mark and then the From Utopia finds itself in battle.

Omaha throws the Mad Dog aside like a forgotten teddy bear and then turns its attention to Mark and Winwin, a scaly beast with small eyes, huge claws and a real axe to grind with the From Utopia.

“Ready plasma cannon,” Winwin says and Mark pulls his right arm back to get into position. The cumbersome cannon is attached to Mark’s side of the jaeger. It comes to life in an explosion of whirring machinery and _fire_ , charged plasma heating inside the cannon and casting a pale, blue light over the From Utopia’s entire right arm.

The kaiju descends on them like a thick fog. It grabs the From Utopia by the shoulders and jostles it, shaking Mark and Winwin with the ease that Mark usually shakes a bottle of iced tea. They struggle to break its grip, both rangers digging their feet into the soft sand below them, twisting and thrashing until the kaiju has no choice but to take a step back.

“Now!” screams Winwin.

They activate the plasma cannon, aiming it directly for Omaha’s left flank. The kaiju howls, an ungodly sound, then dives in the opposite direction. Mark and Winwin don’t have enough time to turn around, Mark-3 jaegers notoriously slow when they need to change directions from a stationary position, and so the kaiju gains the upper hand and slams its tail into Winwin’s side of the jaeger. Winwin cries out, pain exploding in his ribs, and Mark roars in anger, reaching around to punch the kaiju in the side of the face.

The Mad Dog is back on its feet and barreling towards the kaiju with its sword drawn. Mark struggles with Omaha, right arm braced against its jaw in an effort to keep it away from the From Utopia’s face. Able to pause his pain for the sake of combat, Winwin yells, “Deploy missiles!”

This time, the weapon is on Winwin’s side, six rockets tucked inside the From Utopia’s left hand. But this kaiju is smarter than it looks. As soon as the missile launcher gears up to fire, Omaha swats at the jaeger’s left arm, crushing its wrist in its claws. Winwin swears, rocking violently to shake the kaiju off, but before he’s able to break free, the kaiju rears back and slams its head into the From Utopia, a ferocious headbutt that has Mark’s ears ringing and vision spotted.

Stunned, the From Utopia reels backwards but the Mad Dog chooses that exact moment to arrive. They use the kaiju’s distraction against it, bringing their sword down hard and fully severing its right arm. The kaiju screeches and moves like it’s about to flee but Kibum uses his side of the jaeger to kick the kaiju’s left leg out from under it. And that’s all it takes, that half-second of hesitation on the part of the kaiju, that brief moment between losing an arm and losing its footing where the kaiju forgets to be actively engaged.

The Mad Dog draws its sword up and then brings it back down through the kaiju’s back. Still dazed, Mark watches as the tip of the sword appears through the Omaha’s chest. It offers up one last weak cry and then it crumples into a heap, its spikes poking out through the water like the carcass of a forgotten pirate ship.

“Target,” Jonghyun pants, “is fucking neutralized.”

“Goddamned right,” Winwin wheezes.

“Are you hurt?” Mark asks. His vision is still a little blurry, his eardrums still vibrating painfully in the center of his skull. His side took the brunt of the headbutt and while he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, he really envies Winwin’s ability to compartmentalize physical pain.

“Barely,” Winwin says. Mark can’t really see him but he knows Winwin is smirking. “Mad Dog, nicely done.”

“Thanks,” snorts Kibum, “for the compliment and for distracting that ugly bitch like a rodeo clown.”

Winwin laughs out loud.

“Get fucked, Kibum.”

“That’s the plan, big boy. Now let’s go pick up some of the pieces of Vancouver’s skyline, huh? Make cleanup a little easier.”

The Mad Dog begins towards the coast, using the building fire as a beacon.

“Can we vent coolant to put that fire out?” Jonghyun asks.

“Affirmative,” says Marshal Seo, her voice joining theirs on the comm. “But after that, get back to the Shatterdome.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” says Winwin even though she hadn’t been talking to them. Winwin mutes the comm for a second and asks Mark, “You okay?”

Mark swallows hard. His vision is still spotty, his hearing still impeded.

“I think so,” he says but he’s lying. He’s dizzy, disoriented. With the kaiju dead at his feet, Mark’s adrenaline drops off suddenly and now he feels the pain more intensely. It creeps along his neck and jaw, clogging his ears and throbbing in his brain. He feels Winwin’s pain, too, a strong, breath-stealing ache in his left side.

He’s so distracted by the pain and by the new wave of anxiety gripping his throat with icy fingers that he doesn’t hear Jonghyun scream in warning. He doesn’t hear the Shatterdome Technician hastily providing them with new coordinates. He doesn’t hear Winwin cry out until its too late. He doesn’t hear words like _another kaiju_ or _double event_ and he doesn’t see the second kaiju until it’s too late.

Something slams into the side of the From Utopia, a crushing blow that sends the jaeger first into the air and then crashing down into the ocean.

They’re fully submerged now, alarms going off from every direction of the jaeger. The commotion is deafening. From outside his body, Mark hears something about the Lucky Hit and Alpha Justice being deployed right behind them. The second kaiju reaches into the sea and pulls the From Utopia to the surface with both hands.

Mark has just enough time to memorize its face – beady eyes, a long, sharp snout, a triangular jaw, what seems like thousands of razor-sharp teeth – before the kaiju unleashes a sickening roar and takes a bite out of the From Utopia’s neck.

Mark screams from ambiguous and all-encompassing pain. He can’t tell who’s hurt, if it’s him or Winwin or the From Utopia itself, but his every nerve-ending is engulfed in flames.

He sees blood, then motor oil, then sparks of electricity from the exposed machinery.

_This is it. This is how I die._

Winwin screams something about missiles but it’s too late. The kaiju lifts them again, effortless, almost mocking, and launches them into the night sky.

They hit the water like an egg on concrete, the impact shattering what’s left of Mark’s hazy consciousness, and then everything goes dark.


End file.
